


Polymerization

by LabyrinthBiker



Category: Thrilling Intent (Web Series)
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/F, F/M, Fusions, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-09-05 07:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16806325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LabyrinthBiker/pseuds/LabyrinthBiker
Summary: After an object crash-lands behind their school, Ashe, Gregor, and Markus notice strange occurrences happening in the small town of Shroud. With new enemies appearing left and right, the trio must use their newfound powers and friends to defeat them - before it's too late!





	1. Confetti Cannons, Unpopular Opinions, and Vigilante Justice

The city of Shroud is entering its third straight week of snowstorms. Despite the constant barrage of sleet and hail, creating drifts on both sides of the roads, Nine Shrines High School keeps its doors wide open. Students twirl their pencils and dream of Thanksgiving break, while others meander, blissfully unaware of the destiny that is about to meet them.

***

_ It was all going so well,  _ Markus thought, nudging his legs that had fallen asleep and grimacing at the ensuing pins and needles.  _ Was there too much gunpowder? Did the confetti fail as a counterweight? _ He began absentmindedly picking bits of cut-up paper from his hair, still musing to himself.  _ At least Kyr isn’t stuck in here too. _

Markus had never been a bad kid, per se, had rarely seen the principal’s office at all, actually. He wonders how exactly a misfiring confetti cannon would look on his permanent record, but his stomach drops at the thought of the phone call his mother was about to receive. Principal Kyl’il still hasn’t finished with her meeting, but his nerves still wind themselves tighter with every minute that passes.

His worried musings are interrupted by a shout from the hallway, followed by a calmer, testier response. Counselor Zeke throws open the office door, one eye twitching as the red-headed student in his grip tries to wriggle away. Markus’ eyebrows raise at her language. Her tone is bitter and heated, but he can’t understand a word of it. If he were a betting man, however, he figures  _ “ _ _ Poshel na khuy*” _ couldn’t mean anything good when she pairs it with a well-placed middle finger.

Zeke took a deep breath, looking like he wants to put a hole through the wall, “Aesling, we’ve had this conversation before. You cannot speak that way to a teacher,” He pauses as she stops thrashing to give him a look. “Even if Mr. Aftin has some… questionable opinions, you’ll have to take it up with the faculty.”

She glares, but appears to have given up for the time being. Zeke points at the seat next to Markus, and Aesling slumps down in a huff. Markus cautiously moves his backpack to the left of his chair, just in case she decides to get angry again. Zeke nods and heads through the teacher’s lounge door, leaving them alone.

“So…” Markus began, gauging her reaction. She turns to face him, her features schooled into a furious expression. “What are you in for?”

Aesling pauses for a moment, and when she spoke her accent was thick, “I ‘ _ disrupted class with rude remarks.’ _ ” She tsks. “Maybe if drunk man’s class is less stupid, I pay attention.”

“What did he say?” He leans closer, gossip senses in overdrive.

“Tell me to speak English. I not speak English to you?”

“I mean, I can understand you just fine.”

“See? Stupid, I not understand what I say wrong. He ask for answer, I give.”

“What was the question? Maybe you phrased it weird.”

“He say immigrants bring problems. He ask class for good reason for immigration. I say ‘so we don’t have country full of you.’”

Markus tries to hide his grin with his hand, “Oh yeah?”

“Then he call Mr. Zeke, and I am sent here.”

“My sympathies, he sounds like a real ass.”

Aesling smiles for once, and it feels a bit contagious, “What was word? ‘Ass’?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Teach me more. I must know words to call him next time.”

Markus doesn’t even bother to covering his smile as he rolls up his sleeves. “You got it, consider me your new English teacher,” he pauses, thinks for a moment, then extends his hand toward her. “I’m Markus, by the way.”

Her smile widens some, showing off her teeth, “Aesling, but call me Ashe.”

They shake, and Markus begins whispering more curse words, forgetting for a moment the judgment coming their way.

***

Gregor takes the punch to his gut with a small grunt as the air leaves his lungs. Students have surrounded him on all sides, forming a small arena in the hallway - but they’re not his problem right now. He faces the boy ( _ opponent, _ his brain helpfully supplies) in front of him, balling his hands into fists. The other assailant is barely conscious, clutching his stomach on the floor. Gregor doesn’t know where the scrawny kid they were bullying went, he hopes they managed to get away.

The boy leaps forward, growling as Gregor sways to the side. He grabs a fistful of his opponent’s shirt as he passes, hauling him towards the edge of the ring. The crowd parts, allowing him to slam painfully into the wall and slump down. Gregor doesn’t smile, he knows better than to gloat. Instead he hoists the boy up, cracking their foreheads together. He goes limp in his grip, and Gregor drops him to the floor.

“What is going on here?!” A deep, booming voice echoes from the crowd. The students quickly start to disperse, leaving Gregor alone with two groaning kids, and now, an angry Coach Kyrlos. 

Gregor places his hands on his hips, staring down the football coach, “These ruffians were harming another student. Don’t worry, I took care of it.” His determined features morph into those of humble pride.

Kyrlos grabs his arm, vein throbbing in his forehead, “Ruffians? This isn’t a comic book, kid, and you’re not a superhero.”

“I’m not just going to ignore someone who needs help,” Gregor counters, frowning. “And all of the teachers would have let them off easy. That’s not right.”

The coach glances between Gregor’s firm glare and the boys on the floor, who have started to crawl away. He drags a hand over his eyes and lets out a tired sigh. “Office. Now.”

***

“It seems I have a bit of a packed docket today,” Principal Kyl’il says from behind her desk, glancing at the three of them in turn. “Although I have to say, Markus, this is a first for you.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, wondering if there’s a hole in the ground he in which can bury himself. Ashe is looking straight through the principal, tuning out of the conversation before it’s even begun. Gregor is frowning, arms crossed over his chest.

“I have no idea why you thought an unsanctioned confetti cannon was a good idea, and I don’t know why I’m surprised that it managed to go off in Mx. Silverfin’s face. What I want to know,” She turns to face Markus fully, her famous fiery gaze holding him in place, demanding his honesty. “Is who designed the cannon? I’ve seen your grades, you barely passed Wood Shop.”

He breaks eye contact, toying with the hem of his shirt. He can’t rat out Kyr, no way. Kyr’s only at the school because of his scholarship, which would definitely be taken away if anyone found out. Markus grimances at the ground. Kyr was always way too agreeable when it came to his ‘Pizazz Projects.’

She waits for a few moments, then nods, “Alright then. Two weeks detention, and a letter of apology to Mx. Silverfin. This is your first offense, so I’m going to be generous here and not put it on your record.”

He lets out a sigh, allowing his eyes to fall closed. His parents aren’t going to like this, not one bit.

“Gregor,” The boy’s frown deepens even further, if that’s possible. “This is the fourth fight you’ve gotten into this semester-”

“It’s not my fault!” He cuts in. “They were trying to stuff a kid into one of the lockers, how could I just walk past?”

“You should have gotten a teacher involved. You know you’re already on thin ice.”

“The teachers always side with those guys. They’re all on the football team!”

“Fact is, Gregor, you’re the only one who’s still conscious. They may have been injuring a student, but your actions were still in the wrong, and there are consequences. Two weeks detention as well, and I’m going to have to call Ventus.”

“But-”

“You know I do.”

Gregor slumps back in his seat, mouth pressed into a firm line. He looks like he wants to argue some more, but Ventus’ name stops him right in his tracks.

“And Aesling,” Principal Kyl’il sounds longsuffering, rubbing circles into her temples. Ashe glances back from the window for just a moment, her expression guilty. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“... I know.”

“You need to pick your battles. Every teacher is not out to get you here. You have to let us know when something like this happens, not act out at every perceived insult.”

Ashe doesn’t reply, just returns to staring through the paned glass at the snow. Markus feels like he’s intruding on something, but he’s still not sure what.

“Two weeks detention, same as the boys. I’ll also be calling your father, though I’m not sure what good that’ll do.” Ashe tenses for a split second before relaxing back into a bored pose. “Alright, all three of you, out. You’ll start your detentions this afternoon with Coach Kyrlos.”


	2. The Promise of Gossip and Matching Snuggies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus, Ashe, and Gregor start their first detention, which goes about as well as you'd expect.

*Forty-Five Minutes Prior to Detonation*

_ Hey Markus.  _ Kyr texts,  _ Are you okay? _

The blonde tries to hide his smile by leaning over and letting his hair to form a curtain over the phone.  _ Yeah man, why wouldn’t I be? _

_ You’re in detention because you took the fall for me. You didn’t need to do that. _

_ And lose you -  _ Markus freezes, blood running cold, and tries again.  _ And what if you lost your scholarship? _

_ I’d be fine… maybe… eventually. _

He waits, his grin growing once more as Kyr gets flustered.

_ Markus? _

_ Yeah? _

_ Thanks. _

_ No problem. I know you’d do the same for me! _

_ I would! Apropos of nothing, are we still on for the sleepover on Saturday? _

_ Course. _

_ Good, I have something I need to tell you. Kind of a big deal, but don’t freak out when I do! _

He leans back in his chair, frowning at the screen. Who does Kyr think he’s talking to, a rational human being? Markus begins to sweat, worry marring his otherwise flawless complexion. He tries to focus and tap out a nonchalant response.

_ Why would I? You can always talk to me about anything. See you Saturday! _

He stuffs the phone in his pocket before Kyr texts back. Fabulous, not only is he stuck in detention for the foreseeable future, now his best friend’s going to spill some huge beans. Markus stares at the whiteboard, tugging at his hair and wondering at what could possibly be so important that Kyr had to tell him at one of their sleepovers.

The two had been “sleepover buddies” for as long as Markus could remember. Every time Markus needed a shoulder to cry on, a companion, or even just someone to share a blanket with while he dissected old rom-coms, Kyr was there.

His phone beeps loudly as his friend sends another text, but Markus sets it to silent before he can read it.

*Forty Minutes Prior to Detonation*

Ashe huffs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. It bounces back to its original position in front of her eyes. She frowns.

Markus has taken the desk beside her, furiously tapping his pen on the desk. He lets it go once Coach Kyrlos enters the room, directing Gregor to the seat on Ashe’s left. The boy seems to be in a better mood than earlier, dutifully taking out his homework and a pencil.

“I’m sure everyone knows what’s expected of them here,” the coach blares, his voice echoing across the practically-empty room. “No talking, no texting, no food. You can do homework or read, just as long as you do it quietly. I myself…” He slumps into a chair and throws his feet on top of the desk. “Will be taking a short nap.”

Markus and Ashe exchange looks while Gregor continues his work. Soon enough, the coach begins to snore softly, a small hair moving up and down in time with his breaths. Ashe stands and, almost soundlessly makes her way over to the classroom’s row of windows behind them. She stares at the fall leaves, ignoring the rest of the room.

Gregor takes the opportunity to finish his assignment with a flourish, then flips the paper over to start drawing something. Markus peeks over his shoulder, catching only a glimpse of a stick figure holding a sharp spear-thing before Gregor shoulders it out of his sight.

He sighs, then joins Ashe at the window.

*Twenty-Five Minutes Prior to Detonation*

The three students all lean on the windowsill, enjoying the peace of the autumn evening. Gregor’s masterpiece has been filed away into his backpack, Ashe is sounding out curse words with limited success, and Markus’ legs are falling asleep.

“So, you are tough guy, hmm?” Ashe breaks the silence suddenly, surprising the other two. She doesn’t turn to look at Gregor, but her recipient is clear.

“I guess you could call me that.” He says proudly, shoulders straightening.

“I like your…  _ kak ty govorish' po angliyski* _ … moxie.”

“Why thank you, I made it myself.”

Ashe bursts into laughter, a contagious bubble that drags up a similar chortle in the rest of the group. She grips her sides, and Markus takes the time to snag a closer look at the two of them.

Gregor’s hair is even longer than Markus’, a flat mousy-brown strung into a low ponytail. His eyes are closer in hue to bark than chocolate, but it’s a sturdy color. Tough. His red hand-me-down sweatshirt has seen better days, and it clashes terribly with his newer athletic shorts he must have bought for the basketball team. Gregor looks like a quarterback, all muscle and hard lines, but the easy smiles and relaxed posture give away the underlying truth - the kid’s a big softie.

Ashe, on the other hand, definitely looks the part. Her long ratty red hair is tied is a tight braid down her back, swinging slightly as she moves. She already has wrinkles between her brows, with dark bags under her eyes to match. Not as worn-through as Gregor’s, her green windbreaker looks custom-made, built for movement. Her sneakers are the only pieces of her ensemble that don’t look brand new, covered in mud and other miscellaneous forest substances. She’s cool, possibly cooler than anyone else he’s ever met.

It dawns on him, then. He’s getting attached. Markus glances out the window again, tearing his attention away.  _ I always do this, _ he thinks. _ Just two seconds hanging out with someone and I’m already planning what to get them for Christmas. Just cool it for now, let it happen on its own. _

“Hey, Markus -”

“I wasn’t thinking about matching snuggies!”

Gregor frowns, “... Do you want a snuggie? I can knit one if you’re interested. I just wanted to point out that bright light in the sky.” He motions to the clouds above the trees. Indeed, a fluorescent blue ball is drawing closer at a breakneck pace, leaving behind a long trail of fire as it crashes through the atmosphere.

Markus quickly attempts to calculate its trajectory, and is about to suggest relocating to a different classroom when Ashe forces both him and Gregor to the floor.

“Lie down. No moves.” She mutters, deadly serious. “If it breaks glass we will be safe.”

Gregor looks up at her, “If what-”

An ear-piercing explosion suddenly collides with the wall, shattering the windows and sending the desks flying. Coach Kyrlos is thrown out of his chair against the whiteboard, then slides to the ground in a heap.

Ashe holds them down for another minute before determining that it’s safe enough to stand. She glances back at the forest before following the other two to the front of the room. Placing a finger to the coach’s neck, she nods.

“He is knocked out. Concussion, perhaps,” Ashe pulls him underneath the desk. “If there is aftershock, he will be fine in desk.”

Markus has to pause and marvel at her calm attitude. She seems to be handling this situation far better than he would have expected. He begins checking himself over for injuries while Gregor grabs Ashe’s arm.

“We should go investigate.”

“The giant thing that just fell from the sky?” Markus replies. “What if it’s dangerous, what if it’s an alien ship and they’re waiting to skin some unsuspecting human?”

“You don’t need to worry about that. I’d protect you, aliens are no match for me.”

“Ridiculous,” Ashe retorts. “Aliens are fake. Is comet or asteroid.”

“Well, we won’t know until we check it out.” Gregor nudges Ashe with her own arm. 

She thinks for moment, then, “Alright.”

The three practically sprint out of the room, Markus sending a silent apology to the coach. There is no need to force any doors open, as any leading to the outside have been blown off their hinges. They step carefully over the broken glass, then begin making their way towards the forest, a dark plume of smoke pulsing out towards the heavens in front of them.

*Fifteen Minutes Prior to Detonation*

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * “...How do you say in English…”


	3. Keep Your Friends Close... No, Not That Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot proper finally kicks into gear as our heroes investigate the crash - with electrifying results!

*Twelve Minutes Prior to Detonation*

As the three cautiously bolt towards the source of the blast, they continue arguing over its cause.

“You know, not enough people entertain the idea of aliens, and I think that’s a real shame,” Markus huffs. “The extraterrestrial world is infinite and mysterious.”

“Sure,” Gregor agrees, easily keeping pace beside him. “But what about their fighting techniques? I’d like to tussle with an alien at least once.”

“You would lose.” Ashe chuckles, entertaining their ideas for now.

Markus pouts exaggeratingly, “C’mon, Ashe, why do you have to crush Gregor’s dreams like that?”

“Dream is silly. If aliens come here, they are superior. Have better… tech.”

Gregor’s eyes sparkle, “I get to go up against advanced weaponry?”

“You are missing point, tough guy.”

“Space halberds…” He whispers.

Their conversation dies down as they draw closer to the blast site. Ashe signals for the other two to quiet down by holding up her hand. She slows to a walk, slinking to better cover in the bushes and shadows while they continue forward. After a few paces, Markus understands why - there are voices coming from up ahead, and they sound angry.

*Five Minutes Prior to Detonation*

Ashe and Gregor immediately pull Markus down into the bushes, crawling the rest of the way to the clearing created by the crash. Staying behind the safety of the shrubbery, Markus quickly observes the area.

In front of the trio a crater has formed, roughly the size of a football field, which slopes sharply downwards from the edges to the center. A wretched-looking hunk of metal is sticking out of the ground, oozing an acrid orange smoke from every orifice. It appears as if at one point it was shaped like a large egg, but it is so crumpled as to be unrecognizable now. Two men stand just outside of the scrapheap, arguing with one another.

“We wouldn’t be in this situation if you had just turned left when I said-”

“With all due respect, you were holding the map upside down and couldn’t possibly-”

“Are you talking back to your superior-”

“-don’t think you’re taking this very seriously-”

There’s a pitiful hack from inside the egg, followed by another plume of smoke joining the rest. The taller of the two men shakes his head, exasperated. He has long, ink-black hair that juts out at odd angles around his face. Dressed in deep purple robes, Markus thinks he looks like a medieval warrior.

His companion is significantly shorter than the man, perhaps even smaller than Ashe, Markus muses. Parts of his skin are a stark reddish pigment, as if he’d stuck his arms and face in red paint and forgotten to clean up afterwards. His short blonde hair is gelled carefully away from his face, and he is dressed in large beads and flowing earth tones. He clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“How did we get stuck with such an incompetent engineer?” The artistic man asks, his anger subsiding.

His chivalrous friend send a look his way, “That’s the ship’s log-master. The engineer is dead.”

“Is he?”

“ _ You _ killed him.”

Paint-Man frowns.

“Old, long braid, wouldn’t stop talking about golems-”

“Ah yes, I remember now.” He grins.

Ashe’s grip on Markus’ arm tightens slightly. He covers her hand with his own.

*Two Minutes Prior to Detonation*

The coughing starts up again, followed by a third man dragging himself out of the craft, lugging a second egg-like contraption behind him. It’s a luminous purple color with several silver buttons near the tip. The new man, cowboy hat dangerously close to tipping off his head, drops the device in front of the other two and starts tinkering with the buttons.

“Don’t know how this thing works, gurl, but it sure looks important.”

“Just check and see if there’s any damages.” Paint-Man replies.

“You got it.” The man’s voice drips with smarmy charm. Markus feels unclean just listening to it.

“Be careful,” Knight-Man says. “It’s very temperamental.”

“Say no more,” Cowboy assures him. “I’ll treat it as a lover, with such a gentle touch that I - it’s broken.”

Sure enough, the egg begins to chime angrily, blaring a high note as the buttons turn neon-green. As the three men back away, it begins to shake.

“You idiot! You’ve set it off!”

*Zero Minutes Prior to Detonation*

The men hit the dirt just as the egg explodes, sending an incomprehensibly large cloud of violet fog in all directions. It washes over the trio in the bushes before they can even duck, then continues forward unhindered.

Markus can no longer breathe. He clutches at his throat, gasping as he tries to bring in one solid gulp of oxygen. It feels as though the violet dust cloud has coated his lungs, forcing them closed. His entire body heats up until he feels like he’s on fire, as if molten lava is working its way through his bloodstream and will soon drip out of his pores. He gives up on air, scrabbling his nails against the ground as he grits his teeth through the pain.

He glances to his left, and Ashe isn’t doing much better. Her mouth is open in a silent scream as she presses her palms against her eye sockets. The ground around them seems to shake, but Markus can’t focus for too long through the pain. He leans toward Gregor, who is clutching his stomach tightly, his expression pale as he stares at Markus in fear.

_ Just one iota… just one breath… _ Markus thinks, feeling his nails break against the solid earth. He fights against the pain, willing his lungs to expand even by an inch. The world fades into brightly colored specks at the edges of his vision. Before he slips into unconsciousness, he makes one last reach for Gregor and Ashe. As he makes contact with them, it all goes silent and Markus succumbs to the darkness.

***

With a flash of white, Markus opens his eyes. He can’t tell if it has been an hour or even a few seconds, but he doesn’t care. The pain is gone.

As are Gregor and Ashe.

His eyes widen and he swivels around, trying to find them. He trips over his own feet and lands on his face with a loud grunt. Markus stops dead as he realizes - that’s not his voice.

_ Ouch…  _ Ashe mutters.  _ Watch your step. _

_ My step?  _ Gregor asks.  _ You’re the one with two left feet. _

_ My feet are fine! _

“Gregor? Ashe?” Markus whispers in his not-voice, trying to remain calm. “Where are you?”

_ I’m right here,  _ Ashe replies. _ Still behind the bushes. I guess I fell. _

_ Same. _

“You’re not - you didn’t - why can’t I see you?”

_ I’m to your left, idiot. Right there!  _ Markus’ arm points at the bush Ashe had been hiding behind. He tries to move it back, but it feels numb, as if it’s fallen asleep.

The arm pulls back and his hand moves closer to his face. It looks different… gloved…

_ That’s not my hand. _ Ashe pipes up nervously.

Markus looks down at his body, or what used to be his body. Aside from the dark biker gloves he’s never seen before, he finds his torso covered in a dark green puffed blouse over a golden tabard. His legs move of their own accord, dressed in grey pants and combat boots.

_ What am I wearing?  _ He can hear Gregor wonder.

_ I think you mean… _

“... What are  _ we _ wearing?” Markus finishes.

Shouting from the crater breaks through their anxious thoughts, “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

Markus peeks his head -  _ their head _ \- over the bush line, meeting the eyes of the three men from the crash site. He backs down into the foliage once more.

_ What are you doing? They already know where we are! _

“I panicked, sorry!”

_ It’ll be fine. We can take them.  _ Their hand curls into a fist.

“Are you serious? No!”

“Get out where I can see you!” Paint-Man says in a threatening tone. “I won’t ask again.”

They stand, one hand in the air and one fisted at their side. Markus grimaces inwardly at how awkward they must look.

_ Calm down, Gregor. _

_ I’m just being practical. This could turn into a scuffle at any moment. _

Paint-Man and his companions start to walk closer, Knight-Man looking more agitated than aggressive. Markus can feel sweat trickling down the back of their neck. There’s only one option he sees to get them out of here: he has to charm the pants off these guys.

“Gentlemen, there’s no need to be hasty.” He pours every ounce of charisma he can into the words. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Oh, no problem,” Paint-Man assures them. “In fact, judging by the looks of you, I’d say we just had our first success.”

_ Success? _

“Grab it.” Paint-Man motions to Cowboy, who stalks towards them.

_ Don’t touch me! _ Their hand extends at Cowboy, firing a bolt of electricity at his chest. He soars backwards with a cry of pain, denting the metal of the egg upon impact.

_ Ashe, what was that? _

_ Like I know! All I did was point and ‘boom’! _

_ Cool, let me try… _

“Wait-” Markus argues, but Gregor is already moving their arm as if he’s throwing a baseball. Instead, a six-foot long glaive appears from thin air and surges towards the other men, jutting out from the ground at their feet.

_ I’ll need to work on my aim. _

Paint-Man moves a hand over his face, sighing, “I didn’t want to have to do this, but…” He levels both palms towards them.

Markus reacts on instinct, throwing their arms over their eyes in an ‘x’. Suddenly a wall of flames erupts from their hands, driving the two men back. The air starts to chill as storm clouds roll in overhead, and Ashe makes an intrigued hum.

_ I think I can use this. Hold on tight. _

They raise their hands to the sky, the air pulsating with static. Knight-Man and Paint-Man back away slowly as Ashe brings their arms down, along with an incredible column of lightning. It misses the men, instead arcing into the egg, reducing it to a partially-melted pile of metal plates. The Cowboy begins flying towards them again from the impact, but Knight-Man plucks him out of the air as if he were weightless.

The area smells of ozone, and their ears are filled with ringing and shouts of victory from Ashe. Paint-Man, hair on end, runs in the opposite direction further into the woods, followed closely by Knight-Man, Cowboy slung over his shoulder.

They try to catch their breath as the men reach the edge of the crater and disappear into the treeline.

_ We should go after them _ . Gregor says, raising their arm once more. Markus steels himself, but before Gregor can bring out the glaive, their legs sway beneath them. They take a few wobbly steps before falling to the ground and sliding into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this week's chapter cover on my tumblr, authorofthelabyrinth


	4. Of Broken Mirrors, Confused Hormones, and Sadistic Cowboys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the incident, each member of the trio awakens to their new powers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Ashe's section, she and her father are speaking Russian.

ASHE

The alarm beside her bed blares loudly, boosting Ashe into the waking world as she blearily opens her eyes. It is the same familiar tune as always, something she can cling to as she remembers the insane events of the previous night.

She had awoken in the crater to Gregor gently shaking her, a nervous but reassuring smile brightening his features. It had gotten late, and the crescent moon barely left enough light to reorient themselves back towards civilization. They nudged Markus back to consciousness, then made their way through the trees to the school, ignoring the smell of burning ozone and metal. They paused outside the front doors, as if debating splitting up for the night, but Gregor had clung tightly to both of their shoulders and announced that he would see them safely home.

Ashe recalls waving the two away as she crawled through her dilapidated second-story bedroom window. She also remembers keeping a watchful eye on them as they walked down the street and out of sight. She listened carefully for the sound of any alarm that would alert her father to her late return.

She rubs aimlessly at her sore muscles as she makes her way to the bathroom at the end of the hall, wondering how the ability to summon lightning translates to cardio work. Reaching under the old porcelain sink, she drags out a shiny new metal scale. The only items her father seems to be willing to pay for are those that will further their physical prowess.

The scale chimes a low hum as it boots up, clicking on so that she can check her progress. Ashe knows she should be bulking up for winter training, but none of the American food she’s been trying has really agreed with her. She gags inwardly at the thought of adding burgers to her diet.

She supposes she shouldn’t have worried about her weight. The scale’s digital numbers beep steadily upward past one hundred pounds… one-fifty… two hundred… three hundred…

_ Three-hundred and fifty pounds? _

The scale creaks ominously, and Ashe steps away, backing into the sink. She gasps at the small dents her feet have made in the metal frame, spinning around to face the mirror.

The face gazing back barely looks human. Her hair has turned a pale white, from the roots to her split ends. She cards her fingers through it, unable to find a single remaining scarlet strand. She notices a light glinting off the mirror, and realizes the glow is from her own eyes, now the color of molten gold.

Ashe can’t take her eyes off the person staring back, her throat closing in on itself, restricting her air. She tries to take deep breaths, but only manages to create more panic as adrenaline fills her veins. She can feel her palms tingle as electricity takes the place of the chemicals coursing through her bloodstream. Her eyes glow even brighter, and she covers them, trying to stop the lightning from leaving her body.

Without warning, she hears a rush of wind, followed by splintering wood and glass as the mirror shatters. Ashe uncovers her eyes to see a dent in the medicine cabinet behind it, the mirror itself scattered into a million pieces on the floor.

“What’s going on up there?” A gruff voice calls from the stairs. She freezes, glancing at the debris covering the bathroom tiles.

Leaning her head out of the door, she swallows and calls back. “Nothing, Sir, I… tripped.”

He seems to accept her answer, as she can hear his footsteps recede to the kitchen. Ashe lets out a sigh of relief and tries cleaning up the damage, gripping the largest pieces of glass between her fingers. Despite her best efforts, she grunts as a shard drags along her palm, drawing blood. She stands and moves to wash it into the sink, but pauses as she shifts the cut under the water.

The wound has already closed, nearly completely healed as she dries her hand.

She gapes for a moment, then launches herself out of the bathroom and back to her bedroom. Ashe doesn’t give thought to her outfit, barely remembering to sling her backpack over her shoulders as she bolts towards the front door. She hears a grunt from the kitchen and opts to avoid breakfast. No need for her father to learn about the dye job until she can help it.

MARKUS

Markus feels hot.

Well, that’s an understatement - Markus always feels hot. He’s aware of his tall stature and boyish charm, and he enjoys flaunting his baby blues and long blonde locks in front of the other students. He doesn’t see the point in denying the student body any bit of himself.

This type of heat, however, is a bit different. Markus is boiling, his entire body sweating profusely as he lays beneath his usual three layers of blankets. He throws them off, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. It doesn’t help. He still feels like the sun is crawling up his back.

An odd, crackling sound draws his attention away from the sweltering warmth. He can almost feel the pops and snaps from a nearby fire on his skin. In fact, he can definitely feel sparks on his shoulders.

Markus turns his head slightly to face a fiery inferno behind him. The flames are various technicolor hues, and he would have loved to admire them if they hadn’t been burning his cheek.

He leaps away from the bed, which is now covered in the same bright flames, and dives to the floor, rolling around in the hopes that he can dull the fire on his back. After a minute he sits back up, twisting around once more to check for any errant sparks.

While the flames have died down significantly, the ends of his blonde hair are still mingling with them, thankfully not burning up in the process. Markus attempts to blow the leftover strands out with little success.

He returns his attention to his bedspread, which has taken advantage of his distracted state to burst into a full-fledged inferno, reaching towards the ceiling. He grips the edges of his fiery locks and stares hopelessly into the flames.

“Markus, you up kiddo?” He can hear his mother’s chipper voice through the door. “Don’t want to miss school today, hmm?”

Now he is engaged in panic mode, glancing between the door and the fire across his bedspread. Markus grabs a blanket from the floor and starts whaling on the mattress to no avail. No amount of battering seems to affect the multicolor flames. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself, and hopefully the flames along with him, “I’m great, Mom, don’t worry! Don’t come in!”

“Are you sure you’re alright? You sound a bit sick. I’m coming in.”

He groans and tries to calm the fire even faster, watching as it slowly dies down to match his heart rate. It finally burns to a halt as Markus flies under the covers once more, the only evidence remaining being the distinct smell of sulfur.

Mrs. Velafi opens the door and rushes to his side, feeling his forehead. She recoils quickly, shaking her hand as if to ward off a painful shock, “Yikes, kid. You’re burning up!” She pulls his blanket up a bit higher. “Maybe you should stay home from school today.”

Markus pales at the words. There’s no way he can stay here all day. He has to talk to Ashe and Gregor about whatever went on last night. He has to see Kyr and try to make him spill his secrets early so Markus doesn’t die of suspense and anxiety. He has to figure out how to avoid giving away that he’s suddenly able to roast marshmallows at fifty yards.

“No way, Mom, I feel fine! No need to worry!” He gently pushes her off, moving to grab a few articles of clothing out of his drawers. “I’ve got tons of learning to do, so I can’t afford a sick day. I’ll call you if I need to get picked up.”

She hesitates, but eventually relents under his puppy-dog stare.

“Okay, but don’t try to make it through the day if you get worse. We don’t need you infecting any of your classmates.”

As the door closes behind his mother, Markus wonders if what he has could be considered an affliction. He pictures coughing near Kyr and watching his friend gain laser vision, sawing nearby tables in half. Or maybe they would fuse together like he did with Ashe and Gregor…

Markus shakes his head to dispel the images forming, covering his blush as he throws on a light sweatshirt. He doesn’t think he’ll be chilly for a while yet.

GREGOR

He’s not used to dreaming. Ever since Gregor’s parents died, he has only had nightmares. Visions of monsters with their needle-like claws gouging his limbs. Dark red eyes watching his every move. Holding all kinds of weapons, each feeling useless and limp whenever he tried to defend himself.

There are no such creatures here. Gregor finds himself in a long hallway, each door uniquely shaped with its own plaque next to it. He frowns and begins wandering, dragging his hand over each of the wooden frames, pausing to read a few.

_ Battersea vs. The Harpy _

_ Formation of Iconoclasm _

_ Glitter Gun - First Meeting _

He has no idea what these could mean, but he would be lying if he said they didn’t pique his interest. Gregor pauses in front of what appears to be a door made of cement, down to the knob and hinges. The bronze plaque next to the rough grey frame reads, 

_ Proof of Dedication - Serenity _

He slowly turns the knob and pushes open the door. The hallway disappears, and Gregor opens his eyes to a battlefield. More specifically, what appears to be the underside of a building currently crumbling to the ground. He tries to cover his head, but lowers his arms once a piece of concrete falls through him, landing harmlessly to the side.

Directly across from him kneels a silver-haired teen, using arms made of stone to hold the building aloft. Rivulets of sweat sweep down their forehead as they struggle. Before Gregor can offer some way to help, not that he’s sure how to do so, they let out a scream of desperation and drop their remaining knee to the harsh dirt.

_ “Is everyone out?”  _ They manage through gritted teeth.

Gregor hears garbled voices all around the two of them shouting confirmations.

_ “Yes!” _

_ “Get out of there!” _

_ “Can’t.” _ The teen cries, shoulders shuddering in turn with the stone wrists.  _ “As soon as we let go this building’s coming down.” _

The dream moves forward without Gregor noticing, as if the time is fluid here. Before he can blink, the battered kid starts to drop their arms, resignation replacing determination in their features.

Out of the rubble a shockwave erupts, blasting soil and bricks in every direction. A blur approaches Gregor and the silver-haired stonemover, pausing for only a moment to pick the teen up, bridal-style. Amid the squawking and the eventual dust cloud that forms in their hasty departure, Gregor can hear the speedster’s calm words.

_ “I changed my mind, we’ve got you.” _

Gregor is thrown back through the door into the hallway, wondering at what he saw. He must be more creative than he thought. He scrambles up from the floor, breathlessly reaching for the next handle. He doesn’t even bother to read the plaque, falling through the frame into the next scene.

There’s an audible clang as Gregor’s back meets with a overturned and rusty pickup truck. He looks around quickly to see a group of anxious teenagers surrounding him. A shuddering breath beside him draws his attention to an extremely stressed Markus clutching at his sides. A boy with slicked-back hair has his hand on the blonde’s shoulder, whispering words of encouragement.

Gregor wonders for a moment why he’s dreaming of Markus, but shifts that thought aside for now. One of the teens kneels in front of him, her features hard and her dark hair pulled into a rough ponytail.

_ “Markus, I get it. But you really need to pull it together, or we’re all going to die.” _

_ “Thanks for the support!” _ Ashe chastises her.

Gregor’s dream is getting weirder by the minute.

_ “I can’t. I can’t. It’s all gone.” _ Markus croaks, snapping his fingers. A few pitiful sparks pop to life, but quickly die before hitting the ground.

_ “Come out, gurls. Why so frightened of a simple author?” _ A lilting voice calls from behind the truck. Gregor recognizes this newcomer as well.  _ “Why don’t I make this easy for you?” _

Everyone’s eyes widen at the cowboy’s words. Ashe moves to cover a fair-haired girl next to her. The greasy-haired boy presses a few others beneath the vehicle while the brutal brunette stands firm, staring directly into Markus’ eyes.

_ “Syntax: Noun,” _ The cowboy’s voice rings clearly across the scene.  _ “Agony.” _

The junkyard erupts in screams as each teen drops to the ground. Gregor rushes to catch Ashe as she falls, cringing as she slips through him to the dirt. Markus, the only one seemingly unaffected by the voice, grips his hair tight and screws up his expression.

_ “C’mon, c’mon,  _ c’mon… _ ” _ His skin flashes quickly between pale and a pure charcoal black, his eyes a dangerous neon blue.

Gregor notices the time effect once more as the scene speeds forward. Slowly but surely, each one of the teens stops struggling, falling into unconsciousness, or something worse Gregor chooses not to think about. Markus remains pale, only managing to set his hair on fire for a moment.

A boot-clad figure steps around the truck, lopsided grin directed at the scared blonde leaning against the vehicle. He pushes over a red-haired boy covered in small scars with his foot, smirking.

_ “Making all the wrong friends, eh Markus?” _ He drawls, pulling out a dagger.  _ “I’ll wager Xin won’t demote me for getting rid of half of… Pez, was it?” _

The dream moves again, blocking out Markus’ next words. His expression twists into one of fury, and his entire being floods with light. It blinds Gregor for a moment, as well as the cowboy, and standing above him is a horned demon, complete with fiery locks and dark navy skin. He smiles sadistically.

_ “Wrong move, McGee.” _

The ensuing firestorm blows Gregor back through the door, but not before he catches a look at one of the crumpled forms on the ground, eyes wide and unblinking.

It’s his own.

Gregor awakes with a start, scrabbling at the blankets and yanking them away. He’s already halfway off the bunk bed before he even realizes where he is. He starts picking up pieces of clothing from the floor, guessing at what is still acceptable to wear for the week. He snags his backpack off the floor, but not before risking a glance back toward the beds. Aeryn has already left for her morning shift - her sheets are turned down and her messenger bag is gone.

What catches his attention, however, is the twin glaives shot into the ceiling just above his top bunk, dusting the covers with flecks of paint. He panics, dragging them out of the plaster and shoving the weapons into his closet.

Gregor races out the door of the boarding house towards the bus stop. He’ll have to explain the glaives to Ventus later.


	5. The Gang Raids a Spaceship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio decide to use their free time to further investigate the crash site.

Markus checks his watch again, gripping his knees as he resists the urge to barf. The bus had decided today of all days to skip his stop, and now he’s running his ass off to get to school on time. Trouble is, he can’t run for more than a block without popping a lung. He’s early now, Markus decides, he can walk for a bit.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls up the newest text from Kyr.

_ Good luck getting there on time, bud. I’m stuck at home. Caught the flu :( _

He frowns, already calculating the cost of cold medicine and Campbell’s soup.  _ Sorry man, I’ll get the homework and drop it off for you. Feel better! _

Markus starts running again, breathing a sigh of relief when the school comes into view. He’s coated in a thin layer of sweat and probably smells rank. A great start to his day. Ashe and Gregor are waiting for him at the front doors, looking slightly chilled in the fall air.

“The doors are locked,” Gregor says. “We’re not late, are we?”

“Not on my phone.” Ashe replies, revealing a surprisingly high-tech cell phone she’d been playing with.

His pocket vibrates again, and he lets out a sigh as he reads another message from Kyr, showing it off to the other two.

_ Looks like the school’s closed for repairs! My dad just noticed the voicemail. Enjoy your day off, dude! _

The three’s shoulders slump in tandem as they think about their respective walks home. Ashe looks like she’s trying to burn a hole through the phone, so Markus tucks it away for the moment. Gregor stares downcast at the road, then his face lights up.

“This is great!” He shouts, walking in the opposite direction from the parking lot and towards the back of the school. Ashe and Markus hurry to catch up, following close behind.

“Why?” Ashe asks, careful to avoid raised roots and branches, pausing occasionally to haul Markus back up from where he’d tripped. “Now we need return home.”

“Because,” Gregor begins gesticulating wildly as if this will help get his point across. “We can check out that spaceship from yesterday.”

Markus wipes some dust and gravel from his sweatshirt, “But what if those guys-”

“Aliens.” Gregor interrupts.

“What if those  _ aliens _ are there?”

“We scared them off, it’ll be fine. And if they do come back,” Gregor pats his flexed arm. “We’ll just transform again and take ‘em out.”

“How do we have chance?” Ashe questions. “We took them by surprise. What if they are ready?”

“Then you shoot them with a lightning bolt.”

“Digging the hair, by the way.” Markus adds, finger-gunning at her back.

She tentatively runs her fingers through her ponytail nervously, “I woke up and… it was like this. I have had a… rude morning.”

The three catch each other up on their interesting awakenings, trying to one-up one another. Markus has to concede to Ashe’s nearly breaking down a wall, but insists that setting his bedroom on fire is a bit cooler than Gregor summoning a couple swords.

“Glaives,” he corrects. “And it wasn’t just those. What about my dreams? I think they may have been predicting the future.”

“Future is messy. It will change.” Ashe says with an air of finality.

“Hey, if you can see the future, that’d be awesome,” Markus makes a fist as they reach the crater from the day before. “I’m looking forward to having kickass demon powers.”

Ashe keeps them from approaching the ship while she surveys the perimeter. After she determines the relative safety of the area, the three walk-slide down the sharp slope of the crater towards the hunk of metal.

The ship has certainly seen better days; the strange silver plates have melted into each other, half of the craft is sticking out of the ground while the other is irreparably buried, and the numerous cracks in the hull are still smoking uncomfortably. Markus notices the egg that released the strange purple dust cloud, now opened into an almost flower-like glass contraption.

Gregor starts tugging on the pieces of metal, bracing his feet on either side of a plate. It creaks hopefully, but ultimately he lets go with a huff. Markus votes to examine the glass flower, moving the different pieces and seeing how they interact. No matter how many times he fiddles with the mechanism, he can’t figure it out.

There’s a grunting sound from Ashe, her forehead straining, cheeks red. The air behind her is shifting, almost as if she’s summoned a mirage. As she breathes out, a stone palm juts out of her stomach, then floats to rest a few feet above her head. Twice as large as her normal arms, it makes quite an intimidating sight.

“Well that’s…” Markus searches for a proper description. “New.”

Without even pausing to register this development, Ashe lines up her new appendage with the weakest-looking metal plate. Thrusting forward, the fist of boulders crumples the steel like it’s made of paper, pushing through to the other side. Once this bit of progress has been made, Ashe and Gregor take turns bending more plates out of the way and making a sizeable opening to crawl through.

Markus does some mental calculations on their body masses before coming to conclusion that he is definitely going to be the one going into the ship. While the opening they’ve molded is respectable, there’s no way the other two will fit, what with their muscles. Markus is the complete opposite: all spaghetti limbs, no training to speak of. He turns to make this point, but Ashe is already directing him inside.

***

There’s quite a few passages that he can’t enter, whether they’re melted over or crushed, so by the end of his scavenging the three don’t have too much to show for their efforts. A ship’s log, partially burned but otherwise in good shape, a smaller cannister of the purple dust in a test tube, a few maps and books that Ashe had demanded Markus retrieve, some rations that don’t look particularly appetizing, and a black box they assume to be the ship’s radio, which sparks occasionally.

“How are we going to carry all this junk out of here?” Markus asks from his position on the ground. Lugging the radio had taken considerable effort, and he’d flopped into a snow-angel spread the second the thing had hit dirt.

Gregor seems to be considering something, picking up one of the books. “I have to be summoning weapons from somewhere, right? Maybe it’s a storage container of some sort…” He holds the book by its spine, as if trying to shelve it. He extends his arm, and watches in glee as the book disappears along with his hand. Pulling back, the book is still missing, but his hand remains intact.

“...Nice job, tough guy.” Ashe praises, already collecting more of the items to shove into Gregor’s new invisible storage compartment.

It takes a few minutes, but they manage to whisk away the paraphernalia. Markus pauses when the attention turns to the radio, still obviously broken.

“Do we even need this thing?” Gregor asks. “It’s busted, what good is it?”

“I might have someone who can fix it,” Markus pulls a panel off and gawks at the multitude of wires. “...Maybe.”

The three exchange a few pensive looks until Ashe shrugs, “What harm could it do? Go ahead and call.” She moves over the box and pokes a few of the sparking wires aside.

Markus pulls out his phone, but halts his fingers over Kyr’s contact information. He turns back to the others, “Hey, do you guys want to exchange info?”

They nod, adding his number to their cells and sending him a few texts to test out the connection. He hides his smile and dials Kyr’s facetime number, relaxing into a more neutral expression as it rings.

_ *Click* _ “Hello?” Markus must have just woken him up from a nap; his eyes are bleary and his auburn hair is an unruly mess. He gives a sleepy grin when he sees Markus, making his stomach flutter.

“Uh, hey, man. How’s it going, how’re you feeling?” He tries to force the blush to retract, but he can tell from his reflection that it’s not working.

“Still sick. What’s up? You get back home?”

“No, actually. I need your help with something.” He jerks back when Ashe coaxes a flurry of electricity from the box, showing no reaction to the shock whatsoever. “It’s a wiring issue.”

Kyr frowns, but shrugs. “Sure, I can help. Just show me the problem.”

Markus maneuvers the phone camera over the box’s open top, hoping the sun’s light is enough to see by. He tells Ashe to turn on her cell’s flashlight as he lowers the phone further. Kyr hums as he inspects the object, making side notes that none of them understand. When he finishes the initial overview, he tells Markus to pull him back up.

“Well, it’s not like anything I’ve ever wired before, but it’s similar enough to other radios that I can walk you through fixing it.” Kyr ruffles his hair in thought before turning back to Markus. “I can’t promise this’ll definitely work, though. Where did you find this thing?”

Markus fumbles for a second before, “It was in the forest behind the school. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

Kyr seems to accept the excuse for the moment, or maybe he’s simply too sick to care. He and Markus go through the machine, re-attaching wires and buttons to their original positions. A few times Markus swears he hears a garbled voice, but it turns on and off so infrequently that he eventually tunes it out. After a half-hour the two have managed to get the radio into working order, or at least the closest they can get.

The radio is still depressingly underwhelming, but they can finally make out the garbled sentences, though they cut out every few words.

_ “...Transmission received… We are aware that your ship has crashed and are sending reinforcements... Expect Major Xavin to arrive within three... Transmission over...” _ The message loops after this, but the three are no longer paying attention, exchanging worried glances. Ashe moves first, recording the garbled transmission on her phone.

“What are we going to do?” Markus asks, his voice wavering. “We could take three of them, sure, but reinforcements?”

Ashe doesn’t respond, but Gregor pats his bicep again. “It’ll be fine. I’ve taken martial arts, and you two have those magic powers. We’re unstoppable!”

“Not magic,” Ashe corrects him. “Science.”

“Aw c’mon, Ashe, we’ve fought aliens, where’s your sense of imagination?” 

“I don’t know where this imagination object is,” A low voice calls out from behind them. “But I can guess where you’ll be soon enough.”

The three turn on a dime to face the dark-haired alien in the purple robes. His humorless grey eyes meet theirs fearlessly. Markus opens his mouth to say something, but finds he can only flap it open and shut uselessly.

Knight-Man draws a sword from his back, levelling it at the three of them.

“You’re all coming with me.”

  
  



	6. The Author Lets Ashe Say 'Fuck'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knight-Man proves to be formidable, Ashe learns some of Gregor's backstory, and Markus is having a great time.

Markus points at Knight-Man, sending a sizeable fire-ball towards his head. The man ducks to the side, easily avoiding it. The other two use the distraction to fling themselves at Markus, sending the three of them tumbling to the ground.

As they connect, white light blinds them to the world for a few moments. Knight-Man steps back, covering his eyes with his arm. As the bright light fades, he lowers it and frowns.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” He mutters, taking in the sight of the group’s new form. Gregor positions them into a wide stance, lifting their fists close to their face. Markus notes that they must be taller like this - he has to look down to face Knight-Man. “This simply solidifies my concerns. There’s no way you can leave here.”

“We will see, Purple Man,” Ash calls out in their new voice. “How about you testing the fate?”

She aims a right cross at Knight-Man’s face, which he side-steps, delivering a solid gut punch before stepping back and shaking out his wrist. They cough, falling to the ground and clutching at their stomach. Gregor holds a hand over their mouth as they hack and struggle to breath. When they pull back, it’s covered in blood.

“I’ll admit, I’m a bit disappointed,” Knight-Man circles them like a shark, his blade drifting over the grass. “I would have thought that our first success could take more than a single punch.”

Gregor swings them around before Markus can react, lunging at Knight-Man and dropping him to the ground. Ashe positions their hands around his neck, but doesn’t apply much pressure. “Who is the disappointed now?” she replies.

He huffs out a sigh, clasping their elbows. “Still me.”

They cry out as pain flares through their entire being. It feels as if every molecule - every atom - is getting ripped apart. They’re shattering, crumbling and snapping into pieces.

Markus gasps as his back hits the dirt, knocking the wind out of him. He hears two similar grunts beside him, and he knows they’ve been forced back to normal. It hurts like hell, but he cracks his eyes open, meeting the stare of Knight-Man as he stands and dusts himself off.

The man starts moving towards him, dissipating his sword. Markus holds a hand out and tries to summon a fire blast, only succeeding in making his palm smoke pitifully. He shakes it out and tries again, and again, the acrid smoke drifting further and further into the sky as he backs away. Knight-Man kneels and grasps his ankle, turning to drag him away.

There’s a loud  _ CRACK _ as Gregor brings down a long wooden pole against Knight-Man’s back, knocking him flat on his stomach. Markus scrabbles away, reaching for Ashe and pulling her upright.

“Time to go!” He shouts as Knight-Man attempts to get back up, grunting loudly.

The three start sprinting back towards the school, Markus wheezing his displeasure the entire way. Ashe remains silent, but offers her hand to help him run faster.

Gregor stammers an apology between breaths, “Sorry, I was trying to bring out another glaive,” He catches the other’s confused expressions. “All I could manage was a shinai - it’s only a practice sword.”

Markus pats him on the back, “Don’t worry man, I can’t even summon a single spark right now. Knight-Man must have turned off our powers somehow.”

The boy nods and turns to Ashe, narrowly avoiding a low-hanging branch. “What about you?”

She frowns and doesn’t face them, “I am using the lightning since we started run.” The two boys make a silent agreement not to mention the lack of electricity flowing from her person.

As they reach the school, Markus blanches as he hears the heavy footsteps of Knight-Man close behind them. He grabs Gregor and Ashe, hauling them behind a brick doorframe. The three crouch low, forcing themselves into the corner. Placing a finger over his lips, he waits until the man stalks past them.

“I think we should split up,” he whispers, ignoring Ashe’s affronted expression. “It’ll be harder for him to track us if we all head in separate directions.”

“What if Purple-Man follows only one?” Ashe argues, her voice rising in anger. She quickly switches to a murmur. “He will have easy time at catching us if we do this.”

“Then two of us go one way, and the other tries a different path,” Markus works out a path in his head. “If he follows either group, they call the other and we’ll come running.”

Gregor has been glancing between the two of them, nodding silently. He raises a hand, cutting them off. “I agree with Markus. This guy has that defusing power - we can’t stand up to that yet. The best option is to throw him off our scent and figure out how to work around his powers.”

“I think you would be wanting to fight.” Ashe replies.

He glances to the side, “... I think this defusion has a time limit. I want to wait it out until my glaives are back.”

Ashe smiles and lays a hand on his arm, then turns to Markus.

“That is settled. Where do we go?”

Markus knocks his head into the brick wall, calculating possible solutions. He snaps his fingers, eliciting a few sparks, but nothing substantial. He glances at Ashe hopefully, but she shakes her head. “Neither of us have enough power to fight him, but Gregor can still summon weapons. Even if they’re not exactly sharp.”

Gregor pulls out another shinai, leaning the pole on his shoulder, “So someone is definitely coming with me.”

“Yep, and I think it should be Ashe,” he catches her frown and hurries to expand upon the decision. “You two live close together. Just run to Gregor’s house, and when the coast is clear Ashe sneaks out.”

They nod, but she still looks unconvinced, “Where are you going?”

Markus opens his mouth to answer, but is cut off by a muffled voice.

“Come here!”

The trio jumps at the new member until Markus fumbles his phone back out of his pocket. Kyr’s worried gaze stares back at him, fully awake and out of bed.

“Have you been listening-”

“The entire time? Yeah, you forgot to hang up when that dude in the robes showed up. I tried to yell before but the screen went dark and there was a bunch of fighting noises. Are you okay?” Kyr seems close to panicking, and Markus can see the entirety of the boy’s room as he paces nervously.

“We’re fine for now, but I really have to catch you up dude.”

Ashe waves her hand towards the phone, “How do we know to trust him?”

“Are you kidding? I trust Kyr with my life!”

“Aw, thanks bro!”

“Anytime, bro.”

She makes a gagging sound. Gregor stands suddenly, surprising the other three. “Okay, we know where everyone’s going. I suggest we move out now, before that guy circles back.”

Markus and Ashe stand as well, the latter peeking around the edge of the wall. “Clear. We may leave.”

“Alright, text me when you get to the house.” Markus urges, moving to join Ashe.

“Same to you.” She replies, giving him a wary smile.

He nods, and the three take off, splitting apart at the nearest stop sign.

***

Markus reaches Kyr’s doorstep in record time, despite his multiple cramps and loss of lung capacity. He’s sweaty and gross, but he’s alive for the near future. He takes a deep breath and raps his knuckles against the door, hoping that Kyr has been keeping an eye out for him.

The door flies open and Markus is yanked inside. Kyr maintains a steel-like grip on his arms as he checks him over for injuries. Markus prays to whatever god is listening that his flushed face can be blamed on the sprint here. Thankfully, Kyr doesn’t comment on his sweaty features, merely grinning and pulling him close.

Markus wraps his arms around Kyr’s waist, lingering for a moment too long before stepping back. “Don’t get me sick, dude, that’s the last thing I need!” He laughs unevenly, trying not to think about how warm his friend’s embrace felt.

“Sorry, sorry!” Kyr says, picking up a blanket from a nearby couch and wrapping himself tightly. Markus takes a closer look at the red-head, taking stock of his red cheeks and sunken eyes. Kyr coughs and moves down the hallway, motioning Markus down into the basement.

It’s standard fare for a suburban household. The floor is carpeted in a tasteful beige, there’s a few couches in front of a large tv Kyr must have scavenged from the dump, and a large pile of boxes are pushed into the far corner in an attempt to clear some space.

Kyr waddles to one of the leather couches facing the television and sits, patting the space next to him as Markus follows close behind. He sniffs and reaches for Kleenex while Markus joins him.

He jolts suddenly, scrabbling for his phone. Kyr watches as he quickly sends a text to Ashe and Gregor telling them he’s safe. A few minutes later, he receives a text back, complete with a pic of Gregor grinning next to a confused-looking Ashe. Markus chuckles, holding it so Kyr can see more easily.

He smiles, “What’s up with you guys, anyway? Who’s chasing you?” Kyr leans forward conspiratorially. “What did Gregor mean by ‘ _ defuse _ ’?” 

Markus sighs and sets the phone on a side table, turning to fully face Kyr. “So, it all started with that confetti cannon…”

***

The two don’t stop running until they see Gregor’s mailbox, neither particularly out of breath. Ashe pauses to admire the rustic appeal of the two-story while Gregor fishes under the welcome mat for a spare key. Brandishing it triumphantly, he ushers her inside quickly before closing and locking the door once more.

Ashe lets out a long sigh, checking her phone to find a group text from Markus.

_ Made it safe and sound. How are you guys? _

Gregor fishes out his own cell, holding it above their faces and snapping a quick picture. He sends it away before Ashe can complain.

They hear a grunt from the living room, causing Ashe to jump in panic. Gregor waves her off, then calls out. “Hey Ventus, school was closed! I brought a friend over, hope that’s okay!”

Another grunt and Gregor shrugs. Ashe takes that to mean her presence is welcome. She turns to follow him up the stairs and into an almost military-like bedroom. The walls are nearly bare save for a medieval knights calendar and a shift schedule. The bunk beds are both made, corners tucked tightly. There are two desks pushed against the wall, each immaculate and indistinguishable from the other. The only issue Ashe can find is that the floor is littered with clothes, both Gregor’s size and not. He kicks most of them aside and pulls out one of the desk chairs, throwing himself onto the top bunk and leaning on an elbow to face her as she sits.

“So…” Ashe starts, letting the sentence drift off. Markus was always the one to keep conversations going, what made her think she and Gregor would suddenly be best friends? “You enjoy… weapons?”

His eyes light up, “Of course, though Ventus doesn’t let me keep them in my room. They’re all stored in the garage.” He glances towards the closet. “Well, except for those…”

Ashe slides the door open, pulling out the twin glaives. She pauses for a moment, waving one experimentally. “You call him Ventus. Is he…?”

“My foster dad,” Gregor finishes. He lays back and stares at two holes in his ceiling. “My parents and grandpa died when I was little, and Ventus took me in. He’s… distant, but he takes care of everybody, so I can’t complain.”

“He seems…” she grasps for an apt description. “Polite.”

“Sometimes.”

The two fall into a comfortable silence before Gregor rolls over once more, “What’s your family like?”

Ashe freezes, mouth falling into a tight line, and before Gregor can comment, the doorbell rings. They look at each other, neither making a move. Gregor motions for her to bring the glaives up to the top bunk, and the two position themselves on the back end facing the room’s door with the blades balanced precariously.

After a few minutes, the door squeaks open, and a small blonde head peers inside. Gregor puts his glaive down, waving at the little girl. “Reus, what’s up?”

She waves back, taking a moment to stare at Ashe before answering. “Somebody’s at the door for you. He says he’s a friend of yours?”

Ashe glances at Gregor, “Markus didn’t text you, did he?”

He shakes his head, “What does he look like?”

“Well, he has black hair and a purple sweatshirt and jeans. Oh, and he has big eyebrows!” She scrunches her own as if to emphasize the point.

Gregor nudges Ashe and the two climb down, still clutching the glaives tightly. The girl doesn’t comment on them, saying a quick goodbye before skipping out of the room.

“Do you think it’s him?” Ashe asks as they quietly edge down the stairs.

Gregor shrugs, “He was wearing robes, wasn’t he?”

They move back towards the front door, seeing nothing except a few pairs of shoes. Ashe is about to turn back when a low voice rumbles from behind them.

“You have a lovely home.”

Gregor and Ashe immediately draw the glaives, whirling to face Knight-Man. He looks… younger than before, around their age. His sideburns have receded, and though he’s tall, it’s closer to Markus’ height now. He’s wearing the aforementioned casual clothes rather than the deep purple robes. In fact, he’s dressed exactly like Markus.

“Don’t come any closer.” Gregor warns, levelling the glaive at his chest. Knight-Man isn’t smiling, he looks almost upset.

“I think we should talk. Somewhere…” he glances towards the room where Ventus was sitting. “With less people. Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“I agree,” Gregor responds, lowering the glaive. “But I don’t think we need to be worried about  _ that _ .”

He brings the blade back lightning-fast, glancing across Knight-Boy’s leg. He stumbles, and Gregor grabs Ashe’s wrist and drags her through the kitchen towards the basement.

They can hear Knight-Boy clamoring after them, but Gregor keeps moving, pulling Ashe behind him as he flies down the stairs and takes a sharp left. She trips over the carpet, tumbling into him.

With a familiar flash, the two fuse, though they’re still splayed on the floor. Gregor doesn’t give it a second thought, hoisting them up and through the nearest door. They end up in the garage, full of old weapons, training dummies, and 80s workout videos. Ashe sends them leaping behind a pile of armor, ignoring the harsh smell of polish.

They can see their reflection in the old metal, and Ashe gasps as she shakes out their light brown locks, wrapped tight in a ponytail. They’re wearing leather shoulderpads and bracers, and a comfortable yellow tunic. She meets their eyes in the mirror-like sheen, a warm glowing hazel.

Gregor pulls out their phone, a confusing mess that looks like a mix between both of their devices. He scrolls to Markus’ name and types out a quick message. They wait for a minute, listening carefully for any footsteps.

No response.

He tries again. Then Ashe types. They switch every other text, sending them rapid-fire. Still no answer.

Ashe keeps their ears peeled for another minute, then bites the bullet and dials.

***

Markus thinks he might die happily, right here. Kyr is asleep on his shoulder after a few minutes of watching an old game show, his skin still uncomfortably warm. Markus drags the blanket up to cover more of his shoulder as Kyr shivers pitifully.

He plays with Kyr’s soft red hair while some guy rattles off trivia categories, letting his fingers catch in the curls. He lets his hand trace his sleeping features, moving it back as Kyr hums in his sleep. Good lord, he’s fallen  _ hard _ .

A buzz shakes him out of his blissful reverie, and he fumbles for his phone, holding it up to see a caller ID that appears to be glitching out, switching between letters as if it can’t decide on which to pick. He turns the phone off, hoping a reboot will fix whatever error might be causing the odd text.

***

Ashe almost crushes the phone in their hands, hunkering down as Knight-Boy throws open the garage door.

“ _ Fuck _ .” She whispers.


	7. Knight-Boy vs. Glaive-Teen and Electric-Chick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's going to leave a mark.

Knight-Boy freezes as he enters the cold concrete room, glancing around as if the two of them will be sitting out in plain sight. He trails his hands over paint cans, turning over one of the training dummies and tossing it back to the floor. Gregor and Ashe hold their breath, clutching the phone so tightly that it cracks under the strain.

“I know you’re in here,” He says calmly. “I’d like for us to have a civilized conversation. Perhaps we can come to an understanding of some sort.”

_ He just tried to kill us!  _ Ashe growls at Gregor.

She can feel him nod,  _ And he threatened Ventus. _

They jump as the sound of crumpling metal echoes throughout their enclosed space. Risking a glance through a gap between a breastplate and bracer, they see that Knight-Boy has located a sledgehammer amidst the piles of junk, and is swinging it carelessly in order to knock over any potential hiding spots. He idles closer with each wide arc.

Ashe slaps their cheeks quietly,  _ Think, think, think! What can we do? _

Gregor doesn’t respond, but before she can begin to formulate a plan, he throws them over the armor wall. They land on Knight-Boy’s back, knocking the both of them to the ground. The sledgehammer clatters to the ground out of reach, and Ashe lets out a sigh of relief as they sit up.

Their victory is short-lived, however. The boy thrusts his legs upwards, locking his limbs around their throat and slamming their head to the concrete. They let out a cry of pain as bone meets rock. Their legs follow the momentum, falling behind them.

Knight-Boy hauls himself back into a standing position, and the two struggle to do the same. Ashe corrects their stance, placing one foot in front of the other and moving their fists up to cheekbone height. When Knight-Boy moves to throw a punch, Ashe takes over. She ducks to the side, covering their head with the bulk of their arm. She follows up by driving the heel of their palm into the boy’s jaw, grinning as she hears a satisfying crack.

He recoils, drawing his hand up and snapping his jaw back into place with a grimace. Glancing away, he spits a bit of blood to the side and raises his fists once more. Ashe returns them to their previous stance, rolling on the balls of their feet to remain loose. Knight-Boy moves quickly, closing in for a gut punch. Gregor covers their torso for a block, but the boy feints, turning the attack into an uppercut and sending them flying.

They collide with the back wall, coughing as the air is knocked from their lungs, vertebrae cracking ominously as their spine comes in contact with yet more concrete. By the time their vision stops spinning, Knight-Boy has a hand around their throat and the agony of diffusion has begun to set in. Ashe and Gregor hold on with every fiber of their being to stray molecules and atoms, clinging to each other as their very essence is stripped apart. With a bright flash, they break in two. Ashe soars into their previous hiding place like a dazed bowling ball, sending pieces of armor flying in different directions.

She opens her eyes after a few moments with a groan, shoving herself onto her elbows to see Knight-Boy with a tight grip on Gregor’s ponytail, the boy himself unconscious and sagging in the other’s hold. Ashe drags herself to a standing position, limbs falling uselessly to her sides. She takes a few steps forward before falling to her knees with a grunt.

Knight-Boy watches her struggle for a few moments, then tosses Gregor towards her. She barely manages to catch him before he hits the floor, cradling his head protectively as Knight-Boy draws closer.

As the boy stops to stand in front of them, Ashe moves her torso to shield Gregor, glaring icily at the purple-clad attacker. She snarls, “Do what you will, Sharp-Hair.”

He brings a hand up to his coal black locks self-consciously before shaking his head, “I’m glad to see you’re ready to talk.” He says, and curls his hands into fists. After a moment, they fall uselessly to his sides. He sighs, “I need your help.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> * Unfortunately, I am more familiar with Russian-English differences than Irish-English, so in this fic Ashe is a Russian exchange student.  
> What she's saying here is the Russian equivalent to "Fuck you" - literally "Go on a dick."


End file.
